268 



Dialos^ue between a Fafhetfjftnd So7i. 



Vol. IV. 



For the Farmers' Cabinet. 

 Dialogue Ijetweeii a Father and Sou« 



MIU-WINTER. 



Frank. — Oh ! father, what a dreadful night 

 it is ! the wind blows a hurricane, and the 

 snow comes down in whirlwinds! I fear our 

 beautiful fruit trees will suffer very much, for 

 I hear their branches break with the weight 

 of the frozen snow upon them. This is mid- 

 winter truly! how I pity our poor neighbours 

 who are unprepared for this trying season; 

 many of them are, I know, very scantily pro- 

 vided, and to them the roaring of the elements 

 must be frightful ! As I passed farmer Bow- 

 en's this evening, with the heifers from the 

 lower pasture, I saw his poor wife screwing 

 the pieces of old garments tighter into the 

 broken windows, and poor John shovelling 

 the snow from a few logs, that he might take 

 them into the house for their evening's fire ; 

 while the wretched cattle were creeping 

 around the fences for shelter, moaning so 

 piteously; and the dog, who was chained, 

 was howling so frightfully, for the snow was 

 beating full into the house upon him — but 

 poorer than all, and more to be pitied was the 

 farmer himself, who, with both hands thrust 

 down into his pockets, his teeth hard clinched, 

 and his face drawn into wrinkles, was crouch- 

 ing behind the old pear tree, with his eyes 

 fi.xed upon the warring elements, the picture 

 of despair! oh, it was a perfect scene of de- 

 eolation ! 



Father. — It must have been a heart-rend- 

 ing sight ! but you know I have often told 

 neighbour Bowen how it would be with him : 

 and when I saw him wasting his time in the 

 summer, and caring so little for the future, I 

 could not help expressing myself strongly, 

 which is the cause, you know, of the coolness 

 that is between us. If the winter should 

 prove such as we have reason to expect, from 

 its early and violeftt commencement, he and 

 his poor cattle must starve, for I know that he 

 has made but little provision, either for them 

 or himself. Poor man ! he must think, as 

 Grabb says, that the pleasure and independ- 

 ence of a farmer's life are all a hum ; and it 

 is a serious fact, that a farmer's life, unless he 

 take time by the forelock, and be even with 

 the seasons, is, of all lives the most misera- 

 ble, for the short days and long nights of win- 

 ter in the country, have but little to cheer 

 them, unless there is sunshine within ; and 

 to be met at every turn with the dull and 

 black and reproachful countenances of every 

 creature about you, hungry, cold, houseless, 

 and wretched — oh ! I know of nothing so 

 forlorn and woe-begone. On the other 

 hand, to us who enjoy the pleasure of wit- 

 nessing, on such a night as the present, our 

 horses and cattle comfortably housed and well 



fed, with plenty of food and fuel for ourselves, 

 no employment would seem to offer such a 

 source of real happiness ! What, for in- 

 stance, can equal the pleasure of visiting our 

 stables before going to bed, on such a night as 

 this, to hear the cows chewing the cud, while 

 lying on their warm beds of clean straw; 

 and the horses grinding their hay in such ex- 

 act time and tune — for the grinding appa- 

 ratus of each horse has, you know, its own 

 peculiar key-note — I declare I know of no 

 music more sweet, and I once had a friend, 

 an old farmer, who passed an hour in the 

 stable every night after supper, to enjoy it, 

 declaring there was no Play-house music to 

 be compared with it ! 



Frank. — And I too have often enjoyed it; 

 and it is, as you say, on such a night as this, 

 peculiarly sweet. 



Father. — This is, however, a luxury which 

 those only who have sunshine within can 

 enjoy, according to that most beautiful song : 



Sigh not for summer flowers — 



What, though the dark aky lowers? 



Welcome, ye wintry hours — .: 



Our sunshine is within. ' 



Though to the west retreating, 



Day-light so soon is fleeting, 



Now, happy friends are meeting, 



And now our joys begin ! 



Sigh not for summer flowers. 



Round us 'tis deeply snowjng, 

 Hark ! the loud tempest blowing I 

 See, the dark torrent flowing, 

 How wild the skies appear ! 

 But can the whirlwind move us? 

 No ! with this roof above us, 

 Near to the friends that love us, 

 We still have sunshine here. 



Sigh not for summer flowers. 



Frank. — That is beautiful indeed ! But, 

 father, I have sometimes thought that the 

 difference wliich there is between such good 

 and such bad management, must arise, in 

 part, from the systems pursued ; and which 

 miglit, therefore, be denominated tlie old and 

 the new systems; far until latterly, it was 

 the custom, with many, and still is I believe 

 with .some, to farm with as little expense as 

 possible, supposing that the business of agri- 

 culture would not pay for good management. 



Father. — Well, I believe there is truth in 

 the observation, for I have known some who 

 have changed their plan of cheap farming, 

 and confess that they are gainers by it in 

 many ways, and chiefly, in reaping more pro- 

 tit and enjoying more pleasure. 



Frank. — And I suppose these considera- 

 tions ought to be reckoned worth something? 



Father. — Certainly — the last, not least 

 When I visited my friend Starkey, in 



